Corrosion

A year and a half in housekeeping
	behind and done and gone
Having never known such strife
	or lived through work so long
No longer quite so young
As a result, a different view
	between you and me, the things we knew
	The difference of a sprout and flower
Time, it's power
	has instigated the law of continuous change
To show it's range: 
	A tree grows
		in smog and mud and rain
		battered by heavy winds
		it bends, it twists
		and knots persist
		it does everything to gain
		a foothold
		such strong roots
		born of will, such pain
The point is this
As I am enduring it no longer
	in retrospect, I see
I did not get beaten down and emerge stronger
I did not slowly wither, to later thrive
This truth ought be spoken
I was broken
	and reshaped into what I became
	to survive

Calliope, she sits
     with her tablet on her thighs
     she cocks her head
     she hears our cries
     she smiles slyly
     and invites us with her eyes
     to try again

We have our paper and our pen
Our quill and ink and type
We have decided this is when
We will gird our loins and try again
To write

And we will write until we stiffen
We will write until we go blind
We will write until we are nocturnal
We will write until we petrify
We will lose our hope and then
We will try to write again

When we are no longer breathing
When we are six feet beneath
Our fingers, they will twitch
And we will yell our grief
Because we love that cold hard bitch
And even then
We will want a pen

And Calliope, she sits
     with her tablet on her thighs
     she cocks her head
     she hears our cries
     she smiles slyly
     and invites us with her eyes
     to try again

Eggs were in my oatmeal
   this morning when I poured
   hot water from the kettle
   hatched all the dinosaurs.

They fumbled and they grumbled
   awake from age-long rest
   they climbed great oatmeal mountains
   Stegasaurus and T-Rex.

They were loud and proud and monstrous
   they gave a bellow and a roar
   I found I could not eat them
   and instead led them to my sock drawer.

Now they amble and they ramble
   over hills of cotton cloth
   they roam the folded landscape
   the dinosaurs my oatmeal caught!

Together we
    we never see the things we should
And though not shy we both just lie
    we'd sooner die before we would
Admit to knots of creeping thoughts
    we never bought those lands
And so in bed I hold my head
    I could instead be reaching for your hands